


Almost Martyrs

by delicateclarity



Series: The Skies Do Not Fall [1]
Category: Kings
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1958676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicateclarity/pseuds/delicateclarity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn't deserve this, really, and if Jack were any kind of good man he would feel worse about the fact that it's his fault she's in here with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Martyrs

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the end of Kings. Could possibly be part of an expanded series/universe in the future. We'll see if Jack Benjamin's fate ever stops torturing me. You can check out my blog [here](http://smilingbucky.tumblr.com). Thanks very much to my beta [Courtney](http://blessbuckybarnes.tumblr.com)!

They don't talk much, for months. Lucinda tries at first, comments on the weather outside the windows they can't open, or the food sent down already cut so they don't even have knives, or the book she's reading. She reads a lot.

She doesn't deserve this, really, and if Jack were any kind of good man he would feel worse about the fact that it's his fault she's in here with him. But he's not a good man, and he's mostly just annoyed when she talks to him.

She gives up after a while, and then all that's left is a barren, dusty silence, save for the sounds of their everyday lives, the pages of her books or the drip of water from the faucet.

Sometimes Jack feels like he's going mad, and it's nights like that when he turns to Lucinda in their bed and presses kisses to her mouth, trails his hands down her body to touch her.

She's eager for it every time, touching him hungrily and wrapping him up in her arms, but careful - so careful not to scare him off - at the same time. She's a smart woman, she knows about him now even if she didn't before, so she never says anything when she's spread for him and he suddenly pulls away sharply and rolls back to his side of the bed, leaving her cold.

Knowing that the only way out of here is to produce an heir, have a fucking baby, and that they can't - that he can't - is torture, and in the empty space after he pulls away from her he feels more guilty than ever, thinking about every wrong he's committed in his life and how he ended up here, of all places. He doesn't sleep those nights, and he doesn't think she does either.

A year into their time in the cage, he initiates conversation, pretending the scratch of his voice is not present. He talks about the bird's nest that had been built outside of their window, the fact that there would soon be eggs in it.

He doesn't realize the metaphor, of course, until he looks up at Lucinda when she doesn't answer and finds her clutching her mouth and looking out the window with silent tears streaking down her cheeks.

He doesn't hate her, not anymore, so he goes to her where she's standing and places a hand on her shoulder, fingers placed delicately. "I’m sorry," he says, and they both know it's for so much more than stupid small talk.

Lucinda sniffs and shakes her head. "It's not your fault," she says, turning to him.

But the chirp of the birds in the nest breaks in through the glass of the window and bleeds into their conversation.

Jack swallows and pulls her to him, and she rests her head against his chest and cries. He finds himself pressing his cheek into her hair and rubbing her back, and he knows that God doesn't exist because no God would leave such a good person here with a monster like him.

That night, laying on their own sides of the bed, Lucinda asks a question. "Have you ever been in love?"

His breath hitches. "Yes," he says, voice gritty.

"What was his name?"

"Joseph," he says, and the name is sour in his mouth. He tries not to think too much about Joseph, if things would have been different if he'd just -

"Where is he now?" she asks, and when he turns his head to look at her he can see her eyes reflecting the sparse light in the room, propped up on her elbow.

Letting out a pained huff of a laugh, he answers, "Six feet underground."

He can hear her soft gasp, the way the sheets rustle as she tentatively comes toward him, and her fingertips are brushing his bare chest and leaving him shivering.

"Have _you_ ever been in love?" he asks, looking at the ceiling now.

There’s a bittersweet smile in her voice as she says, "I thought I was, once."

Turning to her, then, he finds his nose brushes against hers, and her eyes are wide and dark.

She brings up her hand and gently pushes his hair out of his face, behind his ear, and he watches as her lips part and she lets out a small sigh.

She makes to draw her hand back, but he takes it in his own before bringing his face forward and kissing her, more gently than he has in the past.

When he pulls back she's looking up at him with a quiet desperation. "I wanna try," he says. "Can I?"

"Yes," she breathes, and lets him touch her.

He trails his fingers down her body, raising goosebumps all over her and making her shiver. He doesn't take her tank top off, but his fingertips trace over the swell of her breasts all the same, listening to the hitch in her breath when he rubs his fingers over her nipples.

He doesn't kiss her, just watches the look on her face as he rests his thumb in her navel for a moment before reaching down between her legs.

She can't seem to help but grind down ever so slightly when he presses the whole palm of her hand against her heat, feeling her throb. Because of him.

He swallows and reaches for the waistband of her underwear, and she lifts her hips so that he can pull them from her legs and toss them across the room. He does kiss her, then, eyes closing because he is, for once, stupidly, painfully hard. He wants her, and he wants to do this for her, wants to give her some hope of escape.

Bringing his hand back down, he rubs his fingers along her slit and feels how wet she is before slowly pushing two of them inside her. She lets out a muffled groan and bears down on them, clenching around them and clearly holding back with every fiber of self restraint she possesses.

"Jack," she whispers, and her lips are wet and her eyes are darker than he's ever seen them.

He swipes his thumb across her clit, heart beating fast as she gasps below him. "Do it," she says, and he pushes his underwear off and finds himself above her in seconds.

He kisses her then, closes his eyes as he pushes into her, feeling her moan into his mouth and he can't help but do the same at the feeling of tight wet heat around him.

Pulling his mouth away and resting his forehead against hers, he says her name for the first time since he'd walked into this room, "Lucinda..."  He can feel her shudder.

He fucks her hard and fast, not knowing when the mood could change, and finds himself panting into her neck. Her arms are wrapped around him and she's moaning his name, and the guards outside can hear them for sure and are definitely going to tell his father, but he finds that he doesn't care.

He comes with someone else's name on his lips, but it doesn’t matter, Lucinda's fingers stroking through his sweaty hair. Doesn't pull out yet, but he brings his fingers down and rubs at her clit, and he watches her gasp and fuck herself down on him, biting at her lips, until she comes around him, eyes squeezing shut as she shakes.

He kisses her again and rolls them on their sides, and she's still whispering sweet things to him when he falls asleep.

In the morning, there are three turquoise eggs in the nest outside the window.

**Author's Note:**

> Is there any interest in me expanding this into a series/universe?  
> Also, reblog on [tumblr](http://smilingbucky.tumblr.com/post/91874095323/ficlet-almost-martyrs-kings)? :)


End file.
